The Sandcastle by Iris Murdoch
Miss Carter slowed the car down and Mor began to study the countryside.‘ By this time they were deep in the ragged coniferous Surrey landscape which lies between the fanned-out lines of the great main roads out of London: the region where the escaping Londoner, alone of city-dwellers to use the word in quite this way, says a little doubtfully, ’Now at last we are really in the country.‘
Mor decided that they must have passed the turning he had in mind, but he felt sure that if they continued they would find their way to the river all the same. He was determined, after that unpleasantness, not to fail Miss Carter in the matter of the river. He owed her a service. Meanwhile the afternoon was growing hotter and the woodlands thicker, more immobile, and more heavily perfumed. They drove on.
With a simultaneous cry they greeted what now appeared quite suddenly upon the road before them. Miss Carter braked violently, and approached at a walking pace. She said, ‘How strange, I thought at first it was a mirage.’ She stopped the Riley within a few feet of the ford.
The water ran twinkling across the road in a wide steady sheet. They could hear it running. For a while they sat in an entranced silence listening to its noise. Then Miss Carter let the car come very slowly forward until the front wheels were dipping into the water. She turned to Mor with a look of triumph.
Mor was glad at her joy. He looked about him to each side. The water emerged from the wood under concrete shelves, the tops of which were covered with earth and grasses. Beyond this the trees were thick and it was impossible to see what happened to the little river. Mor looked across the water. A short way beyond the ford there was a turning to the left. ‘Let’s just go down there,’ said Mor, pointing to it. ‘We might be able to reach the bank of the river farther along.’
Miss Carter looked at him a little anxiously. ‘Are you sure you have time?’ she said. ‘I don’t want to keep you. My pranks have caused you some trouble already.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Mor. ‘Nothing was your fault, my dear child. I’ve still got some time in hand. If you’d like to go -? We won’t spend more than a moment looking.’
‘I’d love to!’ said Miss Carter promptly, and the car went through the ford with a gentle swish and sailed round the corner. Here once more the trees met overhead and there was a diffused green light. Miss Carter took off her glasses.
After about a hundred yards they saw that the little road was bearing to the right, away from the direction where the river must lie. The wood was still far too thick for them to see what was there, although when the car stopped and Miss Carter switched off the engine a murmuring sound of water was distantly audible. Straight in front of them, however, was a white gate, and beyond it was a gentle green bridle path which curved away to the left between ferns and brambles under a close continuous archway of oaks, birches, and conifers. It was tempting. They looked at each other.
‘Let’s leave the car,’ said Mor. ‘We could walk down there in a moment and find the river.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘why walk? We can ride.’ And she had leapt out of the car and was unfastening the gate. A minute or two later the Riley was lurching gently along the bridle path.
‘To drive a car along a path like this,’ said Miss Carter almost in a whisper, ‘is like sailing a boat along a street. It is an enchantment.’
Mor was silent. It was so. The engine was almost noiseless now and above it rose the massed hum of the woodland on a summer afternoon, a dazing sound that confounded itself with silence. It was as if since they had passed the white gate they had entered another world. The spirit of the wood pressed upon them, and Mor found himself looking from side to side expecting to see something strange. The path was well kept and closely covered with fine grass, and someone had cut the bracken back on either side. All the same, the ferns and the wild flowers were close enough to the wheels of the car to touch them as they passed, and Mor saw gorse and ragged robin and ladies’ lace banked and swaying slightly on either side of the path ahead. Here and there came a deep vista into the wood, down leaf-strewn alleys lighted by a brown light. There was still no sign of the river. Miss Carter stopped the car suddenly. She still spoke in a low voice. ‘Would you like to drive?’
Mor was startled. It was nearly fifteen years since he had driven a car, and he had never possessed one of his own. ‘I haven’t driven for a long time,’ he said, ‘and I don’t know whether I could now. Anyway, I haven’t got a driving licence.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Miss Carter, ‘no one will know - and we’re not in a real road anyway. Would you like to?’
‘I might harm your beautiful car,’ said Mor. But he knew that he would like to, he would like to very much indeed, drive the Riley. Before he could say any more Miss Carter skipped out of the car and they changed places. She seemed very elated and watched Mor with delight as he looked doubtfully at the dashboard. He could remember nothing. ‘How do I start it?’ he asked.
‘There’s the ignition, it’s switched on, there’s the starter, there’s the gear lever. You remember how the gears go? There’s the clutch, the foot-brake, the accelerator. The hand-brake’s in front here.’ Miss Carter was perched sideways in her seat with the gleeful air of a little boy who sees his father about to make a mess of things.
Mor felt large and awkward. He fiddled a little with the gears. He began to remember. He started the engine. Then gingerly he put the car into first gear and released the clutch. With a jolt the Riley leapt forward. Mor immediately put his foot on the brake and the engine stalled. Miss Carter rocked with laughter. She had drawn her feet up and clutched her skirt about her ankles.
‘Damn!’ said Mor. He tried again and was more successful. The Riley glided very slowly forward and Mor navigated her round a turning in the path. A tree brushed the roof. Almost silently they sailed on through the thickest part of the wood. Miss Carter was grave now, she was looking ahead. As he felt the big car purring quietly along under his control Mor felt like a king. He experienced a deep and intense joy. His body relaxed. He was continuous with the car, with the slowly moving woodland, with the thick green carpet of the unrolling bridle path. They drove for a minute without speaking.
Then Mor saw the woodlander. He was lying very close to the path in a little clearing where the trees receded and left a wide bare space which was covered with fallen leaves. All round the edge the flowers and brambles were festooned in a thick palisade, at the farthest point of which a triangular cleft led far back into the wood and was lost in darkness. The man lay on his side in the dry leaves and seemed to be playing a game with some brightly coloured cards. Most of the cards were in his hand, but some half-dozen were laid out upon the ground. He was a short broad man, dressed in shabby blue cotton trousers and a blue shirt. The clothes had something of the air of a uniform, without being of any identifiable kind. Near by, beneath the brambles, could be seen a bundle and what looked like the handle of some tool. The man’s face was half turned towards them, his eyes cast down, and the peculiarly dark bronze of his cheek suggested that he might be a gipsy. His hair was tangled and black.
Involuntarily Mor stopped the car. They were within a few feet of the man. A moment passed. The reclining figure did not look up. He continued to stare at the row of cards that lay upturned before him. He paid not the slightest attention to the watchers in the car. Mor felt Miss Carter touching his arm. He started the engine again and they drove on. The man was lost to view in the trees.
Mor turned to look at his companion. Miss Carter was pale and had covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ said Mor.
‘I am frightened,’ said Miss Carter. ‘I don’t know why.’
The car bumped quietly along. The path seemed endless. Mor was a bit frightened too, he didn’t know why. He said, ‘He was probably one of those nomadic woodcutters that work for the forestry commission. They live in shacks, or tents in the wood.’
‘He looked to me like a gipsy,’ said Miss Carter, ‘and I’m sure they never work for a
Mor cast a quick glance at her. He was unnerved by her agitation. ‘Much better not,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they are very proud, those people.’ He realized as he said this that he would have felt timid at having to address the man.
‘Did you notice that those weren’t ordinary playing cards?’ said Miss Carter.
At that moment they came round another bend in the bridle path and there before them was the river. The path turned along the bank, transforming itself into a wide lawn, and between waving banks of bulrushes, willow herb, and meadow sweet the river ran strongly, its surface glossy and brilliant. A few late forget-me-nots still lingered, their stems submerged, at the edge of the reed-bed. There was a smell of water.
Mor stopped the car and they both got out. They went forward to the edge and stood for some time in silence. The scene was so like a garden that Mor glanced about him, half expecting to see a house nearby. But there was nothing to be seen except the river, which disappeared again on both sides into the thick wood. He looked at Miss Carter. She was standing deep among the tangle of leaves and flowers on the river bank. She had a drugged entranced look upon her face. As if blindly, her hands reached out into the foliage. She plucked a leaf, and conveyed it to her mouth, and chewed it thoughtfully, her eyes upon the water.
Mor turned about and walked a little way along the grassy lawn. Here was the real country where the seasons’ change is marked by minute signs. Blackthorn gives way to hawthorn and hawthorn to elder. How rarely he came here. He drew the branches aside, and then saw that the river widened into a pool, hidden under a low roof of spreading leaves. The bank shelved gently here, and met the water in a pebbly beach. Beyond it the stream seemed to be deeper, striped upon one side with lines of white crows’ feet, which lay thickly beneath the far bank, but clear in the middle. A white swan’s feather scudded lightly upon the surface. Mor turned to convey this discovery to his companion, but found her there already beside him.
‘Oh,’ said Miss Carter, ‘I must swim! Do you mind? I must! I must!’
Mor felt a little alarmed and shocked at this suggestion; but he felt too that his permission was being asked and he could hardly say no. He was silent.
‘Oh, please I must swim,’ said Miss Carter again. Mor saw the wild light in her eye. He was reminded suddenly of the rose garden, of Bledyard’s room.
‘Of course, swim if you want to,’ said Mor. ‘I only hope nobody comes. I’ll stay well away here on the bank and watch for intruders.’
‘No one will come,’ said Miss Carter, ‘no one will find this place. Yes, you go down there. I’ll undress here, on the far side of these bushes. I won’t be a moment. But I must get into the river.’
Mor went out again into the sunlight and walked away, his feet dragging through meadow sweet at the river’s brim. He felt uneasy. The sun was intensely hot. The perspiration was running steadily like tears down the side of his face. The river was very inviting indeed. Mor turned his head the other way. He sat down where a gap in the reeds showed him a small section of water. Here the bank was high and steep and the river flowed past, three or four feet below him. Gorse bushes on the far side of the water emitted their strong coconut perfume. A large dragon-fly hovered for a moment and then whisked into invisibility. No birds sang. The heat had silenced them.
Mor kept his back turned to the place where the low spreading trees concealed from view the weedy pool and Miss Carter. In a moment or two he heard a vigorous splashing sound, and then a triumphant cry. ‘It’s wonderful!’ cried Miss Carter from behind him. ‘It’s marvellously warm. And the water is so clear. And do you know, there’s water-cress growing?’
‘Be careful,’ said Mor. ‘Don’t get caught in those weeds.’
The splashing continued.
Mor felt very uneasy indeed. He suddenly began to wish that he had not started on this silly expedition at all. He began to think about Nan, and his optimistic ideas of the earlier afternoon now seemed futile. He had thought that no great harm would be done. But how did he know this? He had no precedents for episodes of this kind. Mor had never deceived his wife, except for very occasional social lies, and one or two lies about his health. These were all of them occasions which Mor never forgot. Never before had he had to offer to Nan the sort of confession which he would have to present tonight. He had not the slightest idea how she would take it. Of course, nothing very terrible could happen. Once the truth was told, they would both just have to digest it somehow. But he did not know exactly, or even roughly, how it would be, and he felt a deep anguish.
He wondered if he should tell Nan about Miss Carter’s bathing. Probably he ought to have told Miss Carter not to bathe. Yet somehow that would have been cruel. He had better tell everything, Mor thought. If he was to take refuge in the truth, and indeed that was his only possible refuge, it had better be the whole truth. Of course, he would call on Tim Burke on the way home, and that would make at least part of his story true. Or would this be deceitful? Perhaps he had only decided to see Tim Burke as a sort of device to allow himself to spend a longer time with Miss Carter? He wasn’t sure. It occurred to him that after tonight he had better see to it that he did not meet Miss Carter again except in so far as this was inevitable. Not that it mattered specially. How foolish that lie had been. It had made something very simple and trivial into something that appeared important. Mor stared at the river. A water vole swam slowly across and vanished into the reeds on the far side. Mor did not see it. He felt a black veil of sadness falling between him and the warm late afternoon. He looked at his watch.
It was a quarter past five. Mor jumped up. How the time had fled! He must think about getting back at once. He turned towards the pool and saw Miss Carter’s blue silk dress spread out on a gorse bush and her very small golden sandals perched on a tuft of grass. He turned quickly away again. ‘Miss Carter,’ he called, ‘I think we ought to go fairly soon. I’ll just turn the car round.’
Miss Carter said in a clear voice from somewhere very close to him, ‘Are you sure you can manage?’
‘I can manage,’ said Mor. He climbed gloomily into the Riley and started the engine. How could he have been such a fool as to get himself into this idiotic situation? Tonight all would be plain and clear again. Nan would be hurt and angry. But at least he would be out of the tangle. He hated deeply the feeling that at this very moment he was deceiving her. He put the car into reverse and began to swing it round. He backed it for a little distance along the bank of the river. The Riley moved fast. Mor put the brake on and engaged the first gear. He released the clutch slowly. Nothing happened. He tried again, accelerating slightly. Still nothing happened. The car did not move forward. Mor’s attention came sharply back to the present scene. He checked the hand-brake and went through all the movements again, accelerating hard this time. The car remained where it was, and he could hear a sinister whirring sound as one of the back wheels turned vainly in the undergrowth of sedge and willow herb.
Miss Carter came towards him across the lawn, taking small steps. She had resumed her slightly prim appearance, although the silk dress seemed now to cling even more closely to her body. She was barefoot, carrying her shoes and stockings. ‘What is it?’ she asked a little anxiously.
‘We seem to be stuck for the moment,’ said Mor. He got out.
‘You’re sure you haven’t got the hand-brake on?’ said Miss Carter.
‘Sure,’ said Mor. He walked round to the back of the car. The back wheels were extremely close to the edge of the stream and had entered a thick mass of matted weeds and grasses. The bank fell away here and the undergrowth overhung it in a deceptive manner. Under the canopy of green the earth was damp and sticky. The bank then fell steeply to the water, some feet below. Mor stepped waist deep into the patch of willow herb and saw that the off-side wheel was almost clear of the ground, protruding into the greenery that hung down from the bank towards the water. The other wheel appeared
‘How’s the situation?’ said Miss Carter. She followed him barefoot, and as he bent forward he saw her small white feet appear in the grass near to his heavy shoes.
Mind the nettles,‘ said Mor. ’It’s all right, I think I see what to do. This wheel is almost at the edge, I’m afraid. But we could move if the other wheel would bite. That one’s stuck in a patch of mud. If we just put some grass and branches underneath it, that should do the trick. Look, I’ll rev the engine again, and you watch the back wheels.‘
No, I’ll rev the engine,‘ said Miss Carter. ’Perhaps the car will move for me.‘ She got in and went through the motions. The same thing happened. The engine roared in vain. Mor could see the back wheels turning, one in the green undergrowth above the water, and the other in the patch of mud. Miss Carter switched off and got out again.
‘Lots of grass and twigs is what we need,’ said Mor. He ran to the edge of the wood and began to pluck armfuls of bracken and tall grass. Miss Carter went a little farther into the wood and gathered small twigs and branches. As she returned Mor saw that her legs were bleeding. They knelt together beside the wheel. Miss Carter smelt of river water. From the wet ends of her hair, as she leaned forward, a little water trickled down towards her bosom. She helped Mor to strew the foliage under the wheel from both sides. With his hand Mor scooped the mud out from under the tyre, and packed in a compact bunch of twigs and ferns.